


The Nature of Grief

by pennem



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Gen, No one is harder on Virgil Tracy than Virgil Tracy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-27 15:45:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14428884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennem/pseuds/pennem
Summary: Jeff Tracy returning is the happiest thing that has happened to the Tracy Family in a long time. In the aftermath, one son deals with guilt, regret, and the all consuming fear of what he could have caused.





	1. Confession

Jeff wakes up feeling foggy, which he has come to expect, but feeling more like himself than he has in a long time. He’s aware that he’s in the infirmary this time, finally at the stage where he doesn’t wake up in a full blown panic, convinced that he is still in the Hoods clutches. He stays still and inhales for a moment before he even opens his eyes, letting the smell of the infirmary bring a sense of peace. These past few days, the smell of antiseptic and recycled air has been instrumental in distracting him from the aches and pains of his experience.

Normally, the smell coupled with the sense of utter boredom that accompanies his current residence is enough to drive him crazy, but he has learnt to appreciate every little thing. He is just so happy to be back on the island, _his_ island, that everything that once drove him crazy is now a source of happiness and contentment. His sons constant chattering brings fondness instead of mild frustration, his mother’s burnt cooking is more than welcome, and almost every bad memory from his experience is easily driven away by the company he has so missed the past few months.

Thinking of his mother and sons brings a niggle of concern, his mind zeroing in on Virgil. His half asleep brain doesn’t seem to fully comprehend this sudden intrusion, but the feeling is enough to make him open his eyes. The overhead lights have been completely turned off, but Jeff still has to blink his eyes against the assorted dimmed lamps around the room. Turning his head, he sees the son on his mind in the chair next to him, completely engrossed in something on a data pad in hands. A frown immediately finds its way onto Jeff’s face, the concern intensifying.

Virgil looks terrible. His eyes look hollow with the lighting in the room coupled with the bags under his eyes, his face is pale, and his hair looks clean but is unstyled. This in itself is alarming, because Virgil is always very particular about his hair. Rumpled hoodie, rumpled sweatpants…the person in front of him is a far cry from the sturdy young man that Jeff remembers. How long has he looked like this?

Mind working in overdrive, Jeff is already thinking back to the last few days since his rescue. Everyone has been crowded around his bed ever since he’s been back, which has been a welcome situation, but he’s just now realizing that while everyone has rotated around, Virgil has been a constant hovering presence almost the entire time. What also clicks for Jeff is that Virgil hasn’t properly spoken to him beyond their first meeting, when his son had gone white and thrown his shaking arms around him, right before he launched straight into medic mode. He hasn’t seemed to leave it since then, all their conversations centering around his health.

Concern feeds into guilt. Admittedly, he has been spending the past few days basking in everyone’s company and trying to shake off an experience that while not traumatic was still an ordeal. Regardless, its hitting him now that he’s been so busy listening to Alan and Gordons stories, reassuring John and Scott that he’s fine and is proud of them for holding down the fort in his absence, and getting comfort from his mother, that he hadn’t even realized that Virgil has studiously been avoiding him this entire time. Jeff hadn’t even sought out his middle child, as overwhelmed with emotion and doped up on paid meds he’s been. He hadn’t registered that Virgil was always there, but in the background, or checking his monitors and stats and asking him medical questions, but avoiding eye contact and staying distant.

Something in his breathing must have shifted, because Virgil immediately looks up from his data pad, eyes wide and concerned. Getting a better look at his son’s face sends a stab of _something_ through his stomach; he looks like _he’s_ the one who was held captive for months.

“Dad? You okay?”

Jeff knows the question is completely warranted but it still sends a flash of frustration through him.

Virgil doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead cranes his neck up to intensely study the monitors hooked up to Jeff. He seems to like what he sees, because his shoulders relax after a second, and he looks back at Jeff expectantly.

“Do you need more pain meds?”

Jeff shakes his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the exhausted face in front of him. His son wordlessly picks up the glass of water on the bedside table, angling the straw towards Jeff so he can drink, which he grudgingly does.

There’s silence that seems to echo as Virgil silently puts the cup back, checks the bag feeding into his IV, checks his bandages, and checks his fever. Jeff studies him intently the whole time, long used to picking up cues from his sons posture and body language. Virgil stays relaxed and focused the whole time, his hands steady and an absent frown on his face, but the minute he’s done with his check, his whole demeanor changes.

His hands get nervously stuffed into his hoodie pocket, his eyes angle away from Jeff, and there’s blatant discomfort written all over his face.

This is the first time they’ve been alone without someone providing a distraction, Jeff thinks absently.

“I..it’s late. I’m gonna get Scott to stay with you for a bit.” He says, pushing the chair to the side, his movements stilted. Jeff instinctively catches his wrist before he can get too far.

“No, wait. Hold on, Virgil.” His son looks down at the bandaged hand now covering his wrist, and swallows. The discomfort is radiating off of him in waves, but he looks up and tries to act casual, the effect mostly lost with how tired and wrung out he looks.

“Do you need something else, dad?”

Jeff shakes his head. “No. Are _you_ okay?”

A chuckle that sounds all wrong, and a smile that looks like a grimace under the nervousness and exhaustion plastered all over his face. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“You already did.” Jeff shoots back, falling into his familiar strategy of firm but gentle. “Now I’m asking you.”

“I’m fine.” A shrug that wants to come off casual but comes off twitchy. “Just…tired.”

“Virgil.” He shakes the wrist he’s still holding gently the second his son tries to look away again. His eyes snap back, and he swallows again, a flash of fear playing across the face before it’s gone.

“Something’s the matter. Please tell me what it is.”

“Dad, nothing is the matter. Honestly.” It sounds anything but honest. “I’m just tired…and worried about you.”

Jeff doesn’t doubt the truth in the last statement, but mentally calls bullshit on the first part.

“Virgil…”

“Dad.” His son cuts him off, looking like he wants to physically jump out of his own skin to escape this situation. Alarm bells are blaring in Jeff’s head. What on earth is the matter with his son?

“Please, just focus on getting better. I’m fine, you don’t have to worry about me.”

“If you would tell me what’s wrong, I wouldn’t have to worry.”

“Dad, seriously. I’m fine. I promise, nothing is wrong with me.”

“I’ve never taken you as someone who breaks his promises, son.”

It’s a lower blow than he’d intended, and it slips out before he can stop it, but he doesn’t expect the reaction he gets. Virgil actually _flinches_ at the words, hand clutching unconsciously into a fist. His hands are _shaking,_ Jeff notes numbly. He can feel the tremors in the wrist he’s holding. Instantly, he’s in comfort mode, the need to soothe overtaking the desire to know _what the hell is going on and how the hell can he fix it._

“Virgil..” He starts softly, thumb stroking across the wrist he’s holding, and the gentleness seems to hit, his son sucking in a shaky breath. Horrifyingly, his eyes are now brimming with tears, which he desperately tries to blink back.

“I’m fine. Honest.” It’s not more than a whisper. He pulls his wrist away from Jeff’s loose grip. “I’m gonna refill this for you, and get Scott. Seriously, I’m fine, just…tired.”

A shaking hand grabs at the now empty glass on the nightstand and only succeeds in knocking it over. His son swears, quickly crouching down to pick it up. It’s so unlike him that Jeff feels a surge of sympathy.

He reaches out a hand and firmly grasps his sons shoulder, albeit weakly, keeping him in place. The broad figure under his hand could easily break away, but Jeff knows he won’t. He does flinch at the touch again, squeezing his eyes shut, but he stays where he is.

“Please, son, tell me what’s wrong.” He strokes back soft black hair, keeping his voice soothing and level, trying not to let the anxiety he’s feeling leak into his voice. “You’re starting to scare me.”

“I told you, Dad” The voice he gets is hoarse, thick with emotion. “I’m just..”

“Virgil.”

“Dad, please” A shaky breath turns into a stifled sob, and a hand hastily wipes at the tears trailing down his face. “Please don’t make me do this right now.”

 _Oh, Virgil._ Jeff gently takes his chin, and turns his head up so he has no choice but to look him in the eyes.

Something about being level to Jeff seems to break something in him. After a few seconds, Virgil’s face crumples into the most devastated look he’s ever seen on him. His son looks down at his knees, his lips trembling and getting that miserable downturn they get whenever he’s trying his hardest not to cry.

“You’re going to hate me.” It’s such a small whisper, so full of fear and regret, that Jeff actually feels his heart hurt.

“Virgil, why would you say that?” Jeff cups his cheek, trying to meet his eyes from where he’s sitting on the bed. “I could never hate you.”

Virgil just shakes his head, a gasping sob escaping his lips.

“Whatever this is about, son, I could never hate you. Just please tell me what this is about, you’re really worrying me.”

He gently knocks his chin up, and Virgil has to crane his head up a bit to meet his eyes. Jeff wipes away some of the tears as his son looks at him with eyes brimming with unshed tears, schooling his face into the most comforting it can be. It’s hard with the face in front of him, so nakedly scared and vulnerable.

His son looks down again, picking at a hangnail. The silence stretches and Jeff gives him time to gather his thoughts. He so badly wants to pull him into a hug, but his son has been flinching at every touch and the last thing he wants to do is scare him away when it finally looks like he’s getting ready to talk. The seconds tick by and Jeff has to make an effort to calm the father in him that wants to _immediately_ fix whatever has his son so upset, and he almost thinks he’s going to have to cajole him some more before Virgil finally speaks.

“When..” He clears his throat. “When you were… _there…”_ Jeff doesn’t have to wonder where he means. “..did you ever think we weren’t coming for you?”

“I…”

He had hoped this wasn’t misplaced guilt about his captivity, but that doesn’t seem likely anymore. He almost denies it instantly, his natural instinct to protect, but something tells him that’s not what his son needs right now.

“Alright. Occasionally, yes.” He pauses, forcing himself to admit it. He ponders for a second on the most tactful way to say it. “On some of the worst days, I did think…I was holding onto a miracle.”

He blinks up at his boy, forcing himself not to dwell too deeply on the memories. Teary brown eyes are boring into his, seeming to hang onto every word, a hint of something Jeff can’t place.

“Is that what this is about, son?” He ventures. “Because even on those days, I knew you boys were doing all you could to find me.”

He’d been sure this was reassurance in the right direction, but it seems to be the completely wrong thing to say, because Virgil’s face crumples again, a shaking hand coming up to cover his eyes.

“Oh, son. Please don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault, you have to know that.”

More tears drip down into his lap, shoulders trembling as he shakes his head. Another sob, then he looks up again.

“Did he tell you…” He swallows. “…he made it look like you were dead?”

He’s stunned enough at this sentence that he even has to ask “The Hood?”. Virgil nods and smiles bitterly, although it collapses immediately. “The GDF called it substantial evidence, but not concrete.”

The last few words hold the air of words extremely unwelcome but often repeated, Jeff notes numbly, his mind spinning. His family was told he was dead?

“How..”

Virgil’s hands nervously pick at the blanket half covering Jeff, and he studiously looks at them, eyes adopting a faraway look.

“They didn’t tell us all the…details. Scott hounded them for days, but…all they told us was there was no way you could have survived. There was no…” a grimace “..body, but they said the circumstances were…”

Virgil’s hands are shaking again as he breaks off, and he swallows heavily.

“Oh, son..” He sighs, pushing out the thoughts of _how why_ to focus on the situation at hand. He gives in to the urge to reach out and pull him into a hug or wipe the steady flow of tears or _anything_ to comfort the young man that looks like he’s about to fall apart, but his son still flinches away, gasping out another sob. A hand roughly swipes at one side of his face.

Something about the narrative doesn’t make sense as Jeff can’t stop his mind from trying to analyze the situation. From every indication he’s gotten from his sons, who have tried their best to shield him from any gory details from his absence, they were all furiously looking for him. It was the GDF in the end that narrowed down the lead, that much he knows, but the rest of what he’s pieced together from Gordon and Alan’s exaggerated stories and John and Scott’s passing comments is that they’ve all spent the last few months actively searching from him. One by one, all their faces flash into his mind from when they had finally found him, decked out in full International Rescue gear. Relief, happiness, _relief,_ and _…_

His face snaps back to the son in front of him, and Virgil’s face stands out in his mind among all the others. He finally registers the _disbelief_ he’d seen on his sons face.

 _Oh_.

“Scott and John didn’t believe them.” The hands are back at the blanket again. “They outright told them to fuck off. Gordon and Allie…” He shrugs. “I don’t think they ever stopped hoping. Even after…” He swallows, shaking knuckles white where they hold on to the blanket. Jeff holds his breath, hoping he’s not going to hear what he thinks he’s going to hear.

“But, dad, I did.” Another stifled sob. “I did stop. I’ve spent the last few months mourning you.”

To hear it from confirmed from the voice that’s shaky and laced with despair and guilt is enough to take his breath away. His poor boy spent the last few months thinking he was dead?

“Scott tried so hard to get me to change my mind. Told me that the GDF is only human and he just knew that you were still out there.”

Jeff can’t tear his eyes away from the face that’s resolutely not looking at him again.

“The things I said to him. God, I told him he was a selfish bastard. That if he could just _let you go.”_

Everything he had imagined happening in his absence, the entire scenario that had kept him going, is being torn apart with every word he hears. At the very least, he had imagined his sons united in whatever front they accepted. He had imagined them comforting each other in the way they always did, supporting each other through whatever road blocks they hit. Of course he had considered that they might think he was dead, but this…

The fact that this happened to the son that always feels the most..

“And if I’d had my way…If I had been Scott or John, I would have left you there to die.” His eyes seem far away and tortured, gaze fixed somewhere on Jeff’s shoulder. Jeff resists every urge to reach out, desperate to not scare his son away. His mind is still reeling from the implications of what he’s hearing.

“I would have abandoned you.” Imploring eyes bore into Jeffs, as if willing to get him to _understand. “_ Because it was too hard to keep looking for you _._ It was…it was too hard to keep hoping that we’d somehow find you and get you back, and like a goddamn coward…” The words are hissed out, dripping in self-loathing, and are immediately followed by another sob.

The tap seems to have opened, and Virgil can’t seem to stop confessing everything he’s been holding in.

“And Alan and Gordy. God, they were so upset, and so lost without you, and I didn’t know what to _do._ Because all I could think about was how Scott and John were keeping them latched onto this…this fantasy where you would magically come back and everything would be okay.”

“Dad…they would have been _orphans._ I can’t…I” He’s sobbing earnestly now, and brown eyes meet his again. “I would have orphaned my younger brothers.”

The word _orphans_ rings in his ears, and Jeff has heard enough. His son is heaving out sobs now.

“Virgil..”

“Dad” He sobs, taking Jeffs bandaged hand and holding in both of his. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I believed it.”

“Virgil, it’s okay..”

He doesn’t seem to be listening at all. “Dad, please, you have to know that I wouldn’t have…” Every other word is starting to dissolve into another sob. “I wouldn’t have given up if even a little part of me believed you were alive..”

“I know, Virgil.”

“They’re all going to hate me.” He whimpers and coughs, but keeps going. “I could have…”

“Virgil, it’s okay. Son, you have to calm down.” He can feel Virgils pulse beating through his wrist on one of the hands holding his, and his sobbing is taking on the very strained quality of someone struggling against them but unable to stop.

“Virgil. Virgil, look at me.” Jeff takes his other hand and pulls his chin towards him.

“You have to calm down. Listen to me, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you…I don’t understand why you would ever think that.”  
  
The pain in those honey brown eyes has tears trickling down Jeff’s cheeks, adding to ones he hadn’t even registered falling. It’s a kind of grief he hasn’t seen in those eyes since his wife died, and now, it’s mixed in with a self-loathing that Jeff can’t stand.

“Breathe. Regulate your breathing, you’re hyperventilating.” Virgil takes a deep shaky breath, then immediately chokes on it, coughing and gasping out more sobs. He scrunches his eyes shut, chest still heaving.

“Breathe with me.” Jeff coaxes, patting his cheek until he opens his eyes again. “Come on, in…and out”

This only works for a few seconds until Jeff, in the face of the devastated son in front of him, forgets that he’s in the infirmary for a reason. Bruised ribs twinge in pain as he breathes in too deep in a desperate attempt to get his son to do the same, and he gasps.

Despite the fact that he’s in the middle of breaking down, Virgil immediately freezes, his eyes wide. He falls backward, looking horrified.

“Oh god. Dad, I’m sorry.” He sobs, immediately jumping up and adjusting Jeff’s IV and pressing a button on his watch.

“Wait, Virgil.” Jeff gasps out, pain already receding, desperately reaching out to catch his sons wrist. He misses by inches as Virgil staggers backward, looking stricken. It’s the very picture of someone who can’t believe what he’s done. Jeff can’t stand the thought of adding more guilt onto what Virgil already seems to be harboring, but his son is faster than he looks, and flees before Jeff can even twitch.

“Virgil! Virgil!” Jeff swears, trying to get himself out of bed, ignoring the pain it causes. Brains runs in two seconds later and stops that attempt in its tracks. Jeff falls back, ignoring his concern at the tears still on his face and his clearly elevated heartbeat on the monitors. He instead orders him to get Scott down to the infirmary as fast as he can, Virgil’s tearful confession ringing in his ears and his tear stricken face swimming in his mind.


	2. Comfort

Scott finds his little brother on the landing overlooking Thunderbirds Two. The hangar had been the first place he had gone to check, and despite the situation, he feels an inappropriate surge of happiness that he still knows how his brother thinks.

This has been Virgil’s place of solace ever since International Rescue had started, ahead of even his studio. Looking around, though, it doesn’t seem to have worked so well this time around. Tools are strewn everywhere, a couple of shelves have been toppled over..theres even a can of touch up paint, the green of Thunderbird Two, that’s been splashed across the wall and floor. The can lies on the opposite side, like it had been flung there. Seeing Virgil sitting on the landing among the carnage, the color of his beloved ship so violently thrown around in the background, makes Scott uneasily grit his teeth. The whole scene looks so _wrong._

He quietly and carefully makes his way around the mess, making sure his bare feet miss the green paint. The floor is cold and he’s cursing himself for not taking the time to change out of his pajamas as he shivers. Of course, he knows better to pretend that he would have given it a second thought. The minute he’d been called down to the infirmary by his dad, nothing else had mattered. After he’d talked to his dad…then _really_ nothing had mattered.

Scott makes sure his feet make some sort of sound so he doesn’t sneak up and startle Virgil. His brother has his legs hanging through the railing, and Scott has to push back images of a much smaller Virgil doing the same thing off the roof of their house. Reminders of a much more innocent time choke Scott with guilt whenever any of his brothers are hurting, because all it does is remind him that he just can’t protect them from everything anymore.

As he sits down next to his brother, sticking his long legs through the railing as well, he really, really wishes he still could. It looks so much worse than he had expected, worse than even the mess behind them could have clued him into. Virgil looks…destroyed. Scott can’t even come up with another word to describe the desolation and pain in the eyes of the man he’s looking at. His younger brother his arms folded on the railing, and his forehead rests on the higher bar. He doesn’t acknowledge Scotts presence, but keeps staring blankly at his Thunderbird. There are tear tracks all over his exhausted face, his eyes are bloodshot and lined with red, his face is splotchy…it makes Scotts breath hitch in his throat. How had he missed this?

Virgil must have felt him staring.

“Is Dad okay?” It’s a hoarse, scratchy whisper, the voice of someone who just stopped crying. Scott has to swallow down the despair.

“Yeah, but you knew that.” Virgil would never even think of leaving a patient if he wasn’t completely sure they were okay. Said patient had been adamant that Scott give Virgil ten minutes before he went looking for him. Scott had been ready to go tearing down the house looking for his little brother, but something about Dad’s voice had stopped him. He’d looked more distressed than Scott had seen him in a while, and it had left him with a weight in his stomach that has only gotten worse. Asking for more details had not gotten him much, as his Dad seemed reluctant to divulge what Virgil had told him. He’d simply looked at Scott, guilt stricken, and told him that his brother needed a little bit of time to work through what he was going to, and then Scott had to be there to talk to him, to reassure him that nobody blamed him.

At first, Scott had thought this was Virgil feeling guilty about whatever triage he had done at the scene for Dad. He had a habit of picking apart every little thing he did at the scene, especially when it concerned family, and torturing himself over what he could have done better. His Dad’s whole demeanor and the face of the little brother sitting before him dashes that; this is something much worse.

A few seconds pass and when it doesn’t look like Virgil is going to say anything, Scott speaks up.

“Virgil…what..?”

“Scott.” It’s almost a sob, and pleading brown eyes turn to look at him. It’s an unspeakable plea, the “not yet” hanging unspoken. Scott takes a breath against the hurt now looking him square in the face, and nods, rubbing his brothers back.

“Okay. I’m sorry. I’m right here, whenever you want to talk.” The brown eyes close, forehead going back to resting on the railing. They sit in silence, Scott continuing to rub circles on his brothers back, feeling his breathing hitch slightly. Despite everything, he still feels a sense of peace just sitting with Virgil again. It’s been a while since they’ve been able to be around each other in a non-rescue setting without arguing.

Scott hopes this doesn’t end in an argument again and that he’s able to help with whatever has his little brother feeling so guilty. They might have had their differences the past few months, but Scott knows ( _hopes)_ he’s still going to be able to suss out whatever this is.

The minutes tick by before Virgil finally speaks, not moving or opening his eyes. “I’m sorry. For what I said on Thanksgiving.”

“For..Oh.” The wheels are already turning in Scotts head. He’d figured this had something to do with Dad, but now this _really_ didn’t seem to be a case of post-scene medic guilt. He’s trying to pinpoint exactly what the problem is even as he says, genuinely meaning it, “That’s okay. There’s nothing more to forgive.”

Virgil flinches slightly, but stays silent, eyes still closed. Scott gives him a few seconds. He’s already replaying the events of Thanksgiving in his mind. It had been arguably one of the worst holidays in Tracy Family history, easily beating some of the ones they’d had after their mothers death. It was the first holiday after Dad had gone missing, and everyone had spent the whole day trying to keep up the cheerful façade out of a sense of obligation. It was clear to everyone, though, that the whole thing was barely hanging on by a thread, but no one seemed to be willing to be the one that shattered it. The whole day was full of frayed tempers, painful smiles and miserable conversation until they had sat down for dinner.

Alan had spoken up at the start of dinner about how grateful he was to have all of them at the table. Then he’d stopped, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and very meekly stated that he hoped Dad was having a good Thanksgiving wherever he was. Scott had zeroed in on how Virgils hand had twitched before clenching into a tight fist, knuckles white, his eyes boring into the table in front of him. Gordon, John and Grandma had echoed Alans sentiment with patient smiles, and Alan had promptly burst into tears.

It was the first time he’d talked about Dad, the first time any of them had really talked about him other than their feverish attempts to find him. But this was the day Scott had figured out that Virgil didn’t believe that they _were_ going to find him. The middle child had been right there comforting Alan with the rest of them, but right after a tense dinner, he’d dragged Scott into Dad’s office and ripped into him in a way he had never done.

Scott, nerves frayed by the whole day and the whole week and all the months of tension and misery, had yelled right back. Virgil, angry tears streaming down his face, practically screamed his throat raw at him about how Scott and John were basically torturing the family by continuing to search for Dad. The evidence was clear, as bad as it felt, that Dad was gone. There was no point, he had said, to continue to drag out this misery for all of them.

Scott had gone and called him a coward for backing down so easily, and Virgil had called him a coward right back for not being strong enough to grieve properly, holding out on a stupid fantasy that everything would turn out okay. Scott doesn’t remember everything about the fight, but does remember the hurt mingled with fury at the things Virgil had shot at him, although in retrospect, most of it was fueled by his furious denial that Dad was dead.

They had yelled and yelled, and no one had been brave enough to come break them apart. It had abruptly ended, both of them glaring at each other through angry tears. All Scott had felt at the time was fury at his brothers selfishness and cowardice, but now he’s hit with a surge of sympathy and pride at how hard Virgil had fought, and how most of the time he had fought for Alan, Gordon and Grandma. He’d been adamant that holding on was just hurting everybody, and that Dad was _dead_ and there was _no point_ ….oh.

The realization hits Scott like a whip, everything falling into place. They’d both made up the next day, with Virgil apologizing for the things he’d said. Scott had too, but had stayed firm on the fact that he was going to keep looking for dad. Virgil had just nodded sadly, like that was what he’d expected, but had pleaded for Scott to keep Alan and Gordon out of it. Scott had felt another bolt of fury at that, but had grudgingly agreed, and had kept his word. But now that dad was back…

Dad's worried face hovers in his memory

_“He thinks we’ll all hate him, Scott. You need to talk to him”_

“Oh Virg…”  


Even with the months of tension and distance, they still have that connection that they’ve always had. Virgil knows he’s figured it out by just those two words, and his eyes scrunch shut, tears leaking out.

“Before…before you say anything.” Pleading brown eyes meet his for just a second before they turn to his own hands. Helpless against how sad his brother sounds, Scott stops. “I…I know this….please just know how sorry I am. I…”

Shaking hands furiously wipe at trickling eyes, before they fall into his lap again.

“Please don’t hate me, Scott. I can take everyone else being mad at me, but I…I can’t take knowing we can never get past this.” He hiccups out a sob, pleading brown eyes meeting his own. “I know this is unforgivable. If you’re mad at me, that’s fine…just please don’t hate me forever. I hate myself enough.”

Before Scott can say anything, he hears footsteps behind him. He looks back to find John walking towards them, the sympathy in his eyes and the nod he gives Scott telling him he’s heard enough and figured it out. He settles down on Virgils other side, putting an arm around him as Scott speaks.

“Virgil, Christ, I don’t hate you. We…why would you think that? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Virgil just looks at him and turns to look at the newly arrived John, who nods. “That might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

Virgil gapes at them, breath still hitching. He looks as if he was genuinely expecting to be told that he would never be forgiven.

“But I…How can you..? Do you not remember what I said?”

Scott can’t stand it, and reaches out to wipe away the fresh tears, heart breaking even more as Virgil backs his face away, looking utterly confused.

“I..” He gasps out a little sob. “I wanted to stop looking for dad. I could have…”

“Virg..” John speaks up first, surprisingly. “You know better than to do this to yourself. You can’t linger on what could have happened.”

“But…”

“No buts.” Scott interrupts this time. “John’s right, Virg. This was…this was such a shitty situation.” Even now, Scott can starkly feel the sheer frustration they’ve all been struggling with the past few months. “You had every reason to believe Dad was gone. Honestly, John and I did a lot of times too.”

Virgil snaps his head up to look at him. The disbelief on his face is genuine.

“Oh yeah. There were times I literally told John to fuck off because he couldn’t get his head around how Dad could have survived with all the evidence.”

Turning around to look at John also gets him a sympathetic nod from the blonde. “Yeah. And Scott broke down on Christmas Eve because he was sure we were never going to have Christmas with dad again.”

“What…when was all this happening?” The unspoken “where was I?” hung in the air.

Scott sighs miserably, guilt heavy in his chest.

“We hid it from the three of you.” He looks up at John, and sees his own guilt mirrored in the blue eyes. They’ve really messed this up.

“Why?” It’s a whisper, and Virgil looks so nakedly hurt as he looks at him, Scott has to force himself to not look away.

“Honestly, we thought we were protecting you guys. I don’t…I don’t know why we thought it was a good idea, but…we knew we were distancing ourselves from you, but we thought it was the right thing to do.”

“We didn’t want you to see us in our moments of doubt.” John says. “We wanted you to keep holding out hope that Dad was alive, but..”

“We were scared, too. Even before Thanksgiving, when we got the evidence…it was so much more of a possibility that Dad was gone, but..I just couldn’t accept it. Anytime I thought of it, thought about how Dad could just be _gone_ , and I would have to lead IR, I just…”

He shudders involuntarily, looking back at Virgil. “I’m so sorry, Virg. We never…we never considered how shutting you guys out would make you feel.”

The shock of the turn in this conversation at least seems to have stopped the tears. His brother looks shell shocked, like he’s having trouble digesting everything he’s hearing. Scott honestly can’t blame him.

“The point is, Virg, you…you were the only one brave enough to do what we should have been doing the whole time.”

Virgil angrily shakes himself, glaring at his hands.

“That’s…that’s bullshit.” He spits out, surprising both of them with the sudden vehemence. “Whatever you _thought_ , you both…you both kept _looking._ You didn’t give up on our dad when the going got tough. Not like…”

He chokes off, anger falling away as quickly as it came.

“Virg. We were in denial. We had no reason to believe Dad was still alive, but we kept hanging on. _You_ were the one who was looking out for our family.”

“I let them believe dad was _dead”_

_“_ You had no reason to think otherwise! None of us did! It was complete idiocy for us to cling on to the hope that Dad was alive.”

“I think the point that Scott is making is that in a situation as shitty as this, there’s no real answers. It’s…completely out of our hands, and like I said, you can’t go back and dwell on every what-if.” John has his logic voice on, and Scott hopes it drives the point home. “Virg, I know how your mind works. There’s no point going through all these scenarios in your head and fixating on the worst possible thing you think you could have caused. We have no way of knowing what could have been.”

“But…”

Scott can feel the conversation going around in circles. Why were little brothers always so stubborn?

“Virg. The second we had a lead…literally the second the GDF said they had found something, were you not on your feet blasting full speed towards your ship?”

Virgil doesn’t answer, just looks away.

“So the second we had a shred of evidence that Dad could be alive, you were right there with the rest of us?”

“I…yeah..”

“Then how could you think you were in the wrong? All you did was come to a logical conclusion with what we had. You were the only one who had the balls to accept what we had, no matter how horrible it was.”

Scott has to take a deep breath to keep his emotion in. Talking about the past few months, and all that they went through, isn’t easy. He doesn’t even know if half of what he’s saying is even making sense. But he knows deep down, he feels no animosity or anger towards the devastated brother in front of him. If anything, he feels the strongest sense of pride at the little brother who’s grown up putting others before himself, who even now has likely been torturing himself for days, for a situation beyond his control. Scott lets the pride seep into his voice.

“God, Virg. I can tell you’re not ready to believe this right now, but I can’t even tell you how proud I am of you. No, listen!” He pushes on at the disbelieving scoff, wiping away the earrant tears with his thumb before cupping Virgils cheek. “You were the one looking out for Gordon and Alan, and comforting Grandma. John and I were chasing dead end leads and hiding away because we weren’t strong enough to even face the possibility that Dad was dead.”

“You’re only looking at this through how it affected everyone else, you’re not even considering how hard I know this was for you. You spent the past few months grieving for Dad by yourself, with literally no support from us. If anything, we just made the whole thing worse for you. You had to go toe to toe with our stubborn asses and try to get us to see reason.”  
  
“You tried so hard to protect Gordon and Allie and Grandma. We let them hold on to this fantasy because we weren’t strong enough to even consider anything else, and you had to take care of them by yourself.”

Saying it out loud has tears leaking out of Scotts eyes, and looking over Virgils shoulder, he sees Johns eyes brimming with unshed ones.

“I’m so proud of you. You were stronger than anyone else, and I’m so glad you were there to look after the family.”  
  
“I don’t…I don’t _feel_ brave.” Virgils voice is quiet and hoarse, and trembling hands wipe away tears. Scott can practically feel the exhaustion seeping from his brother.

“Virg…I really hope you know how sincere we are right now, and how _sorry_ we are. You shouldn’t have had to handle this all by yourself, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that, but…you’ve spent your whole life protecting everyone, and that’s all you’ve been doing these past few months.”

He shakes his head, making sure Virgil can hear the pride and emotion in his voice. “God, Virg, how did you ever think we could hate you for any of that? Any of us?”

Virgils chin is trembling again. He looks from Scott to John, who just nods at him and gently puts a hand on his neck. He looks back at Scott, hesitant, as if searching for any trace of a lie.

“You really mean all that?” He licks dry lips. “You…you don’t blame me?”

Scott shakes his head, knowing he’s said what needed to be said. Virgil looks back at his Thunderbird, teeth catching his bottom lip. He’s blinking back tears again, and Scott pulls him onto his shoulder, inwardly sighing in relief when his brother doesn’t flinch away this time. He just takes a shaky breath, hand coming up to cover his eyes.

“I don’t…” He shudders out. His voice sounds completely destroyed still, so Scott shushes him before he can continue. John shifts a little closer and takes the hand closest to him, while Scott brings his other hand around to cradle his head.

“This isn’t gonna pass by today.” John says, and Scott lets him, feeling a stab of anger because he can’t remember the last time he hugged the brother in his arms, who’s still shuddering slightly, completely wrung out. “Virg, you’re exhausted, and you’ve spent the last few days convinced everyone hates you and beating yourself up about it. Just, please, believe us when we say we don’t hate you, dad doesn’t hate you, and tomorrow, you can hear Allie and Gordon tell you the same thing”

The hand on his face drops, and Virgil gives a shaky nod, swallowing. Another little sob, but it sounds like he doesn’t have the energy to do anymore. He just looks at his Thunderbird, exhaustion written on every feature. John reaches out and wipes away the rest of the tears, rubbing Virgil’s arm again.

He meets Scott’s eyes, and Scott reads every emotion he feels clear on the blondes face. They’re both older brothers who’re being faced with the very real consequence of their failure, of their denial, in the form of the guilt-stricken and exhausted brother in front of them. So they sit with him, both doing their best to physically show that there is no hatred, no blame, and no chance of the scenario that Virgil had constructed for himself playing out.

Their little brother just sits there, blinking at his beloved bird, and they can both see the sluggish cogs working in his head, trying to digest what he’s just heard. They know he hasn’t completely believed it, and he won’t truly believe it until he hears it from everyone, and even when he does, getting over the self-blame will be the hardest obstacle.

In a few minutes, Virgils eyes droop. The dark bags stand out starkly against the splotchy face, and Scott can’t remember Virgil ever not being in the infirmary or working on his bird these past few days. Another thing to feel guilty about, so he just keeps smoothing down his brothers hair until the soothing gesture is enough for his eyes to droop closed, and keeps it up for another minute until the sadness finally slips off his face and his breathing evens. He looks so young and vulnerable against Scotts shoulder. John silently brushes his hair back, and without speaking, they rise, Scott picking up Virgil, cradling him to his chest. Together, they walk back to their little brothers room, fully aware they won’t be going anywhere else for the rest of the night.


End file.
